Page 41 of His Pretty Little Duet

Then it dies down, and I immediately mourn it.

I still on the cushion, panting.

Fuck me.

Emotion and gratitude and affection fill me. I float through a few minutes of silence, and then feather down as slithers of embarrassment weight me, riding the tails of my returning sanity.

Bit late to be embarrassed, Fawn.

Whimpering, I pull my fingers from inside me. I sit back on my heels, listening as he stands, as he takes meaningful steps, circling the couch until he is a formidable tower hovering above me.

He stops, and I crane my flushed face to see him, but I feel so weak, so tired, so completely overwhelmed. Inundated with feelings, some forcing tears to my eyes and some provoking a smile to dance on my lips.

Utter confusion.

I struggle within the clutches of muscular fatigue. He must notice, dropping to his haunches, so I don’t need to arch so far. His piercing blue gaze drops to my wet hand before reaching for it and pulling it to his face. Sinking both my forefinger and middle finger into his mouth, he closes his eyes, sucking my wetness from my skin.

God, this man is walking sin.

His mouth is hot, his tongue aggressive against my fingers, forcing more moans to vibrate within my throat.

His eyes open. He drags my fingers slowly from his lips and smiles—a charming, dangerous curve that could cause nuns to simultaneously clutch their rosaries and drench their panties.

“I am very proud of you for listening,” he says, and his words carry warmth into my heart.

The tears lying in wait now force themselves to the surface of my eyes. I don't know how to handle all the praise, don't know how to react.

It. Is.Everything.

He continues, “For not being ashamed to show me how beautiful you look and sound when you come." He reaches up and smooths my messy blonde mane down my crown, causing me to move into his touch, to chase it. A pet eager for his tenderness.His little deer. “There is a dress on the bed for you. Put it on."

When he stands, I shiver, mourning his closeness, needing it in this time of vulnerability. My body trembles as the comfort I felt having him attentive, disappears.

I want someone to hold me—want him to hold me—but he's standing over me, indifference a circling phantom. Misplaced disappointment seeps through me—such a familiar feeling, I'm surprised that it still stings.

I stare blankly ahead at his pristine black pants. The outline of his erection is a thick, menacing bulge that pulses, battling for room in his pant. He’sbig.He rubs his palm over the material covering his thick shaft, hissing slightly as he does. “And Fawn, remember,” he says through a deep groan, still palming his length up and down. “Stormy River."

Then he strides from the room.

Leaving me on my knees.

Wrecked from my very first orgasm.

"You look so beautiful," Jasmine says longingly, gazing at the slim-line gold floor-length garment. The sleeveless bodice has an oriental inspired collar with a little satin button at the divot in my neck. The gold silk, adorned with shimmering clusters of tiny beads, clings to my every curve, shaping me down to my toes.

Turning on my side, I roll my hands from the start of the small swell at my navel to the end at my pubic line. The presence of the baby is a small lump that could be mistaken for food or beer but unlikely.

Squaring my shoulders, I stare at the pretty girl in the mirror; her body doesn't suit her unsettled mind. She is physically perfect, with lush blonde hair pulled into a messy bun, a plait around the dome, glowing skin, and a slim but softly curved physique. She's comfortable in her skin. Inside though, she is riddled with self-doubt.

Did he enjoy watching me?

Will we do that again?

Warmth spreads beneath my skin as the scene half an hour ago plays back in my mind. He desires me, of that I am absolutely certain. That, though, is possibly where his affections start and end.

My stomach twists.

I should have never relented to the fantasy that he may want to hold me... just for a moment.

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